James

The day started like any other. Same halls, same faces, same buzz of a school that couldn't decide if it cared about the future or just surviving until lunch. I was at my locker, shoving books into my bag, when Chad appeared out of nowhere.

"Hey."

I glanced up, not in the mood. "What?"

"Don't look so happy to see me," he said, leaning against the locker next to mine.

"I'm not," I muttered, shutting the door with more force than necessary.

Chad didn't take the hint. Instead, he grinned, all easy confidence. "What's your problem? You've been weird all week."

I sighed, adjusting my bag. "No problem. Just tired."

"Tired of me?" His tone was light, but there was something else in it.

I frowned, not liking the way he was looking at me. "What's that supposed to mean?"

Before I could process what was happening, Chad stepped closer. Too close.

"Chad," I said, my voice low. "What are you—"

And then he kissed me.

For a split second, I froze. My brain couldn't catch up with what was happening. His lips were on mine, and I felt this jolt—not the good kind, but the kind that made my stomach churn.

I pushed him back, my hand against his chest, harder than I meant to. "What the hell are you doing?"

He smirked, like it was all a joke. "Just seeing how you'd react."

"What's wrong with you?" I hissed, stepping back. "Don't—don't ever do that again."

Chad held up his hands, his expression maddeningly casual. "Relax. It's not a big deal."

"Not a big deal?" I snapped. "You're out of your mind."

I turned and walked away before I could say—or do—something worse. My heart was racing, my thoughts spinning.

Charlie

The soft hum of the art room was a sanctuary against the chaos outside its door. Brushes, lined neatly along the edge of my desk, begged to be used, but my mind was somewhere else—lingering on last night. James's touch, his warmth, the way he said my name like it was something sacred.

I dipped my brush into the paint, swirling hues of grey and blue together, trying to capture the storm I couldn't shake. Then the door banged open.

"Charlie."

Lena stood there, clutching her bag, her face tight with urgency.

"What's wrong?" I asked, putting the brush down.

She hesitated, stepping inside and closing the door behind her. The sudden quiet felt ominous.

"I saw something," she said, her voice low. "And I think you need to know."

My stomach tightened. "What are you talking about?"

"It's James," she began, looking pained. "I saw him with Chad. It looked like—" She faltered, running a hand through her hair. "It looked like Chad kissed him."

I blinked, the words taking longer to settle than they should have.

"No," I said automatically, shaking my head. "James wouldn't—"

"Charlie, I wouldn't have come to you if I wasn't sure of what I saw."

Her voice was steady, but it didn't feel real. My mind scrambled for a logical explanation, anything to ground me. James wouldn't do that. Not to me. Not to us.

"You sure it wasn't..." I trailed off, not knowing what to say.

"It didn't look like James kissed him back," Lena said softly, trying to cushion the blow. "But he didn't push him away either."

The room felt smaller suddenly, the walls pressing in.

James

Why is everyone looking at me?

I slammed my locker shut, the metallic clang echoing louder than usual. It wasn't paranoia; people were looking. A whisper here, a glance there.

"Hey, man."

I turned to see Chad leaning against the lockers, looking too casual for my liking.

"What do you want?" I asked, my voice sharp.

He shrugged, a smirk tugging at his lips. "Relax. Just wanted to talk."

"About what?"

Chad hesitated for half a second, just long enough to set my nerves on edge. "About yesterday."

My jaw tightened. "What about it?"

"Come on, James." He stepped closer, too close, his voice dropping. "You didn't seem to hate it."

"I didn't want it," I snapped, shoving past him. "And I don't want to talk about it."

"Fine," he called after me, his tone annoyingly smug. "But maybe you should tell him that before someone else does."

I froze mid-step, my fists clenching.

Charlie

The rest of the day passed in a blur. I avoided James, my thoughts spiraling. Part of me wanted to believe Lena was wrong or that it didn't matter. But it did.

By the time the last bell rang, I was already waiting near his locker, leaning against the wall.

When he appeared, his hair tousled and his bag slung over one shoulder, I couldn't help the tightness in my chest.

"Hey," I said, my voice steady.

James looked up, startled, then wary. "Hey."

"We need to talk," I said, my words clipped.

His shoulders tensed, but he nodded. "Yeah. We do."

"Meet me after school."

"Where?"

"Our spot."

He hesitated, then nodded again. "Okay."

As he walked away, I felt a sharp pang in my chest. I wanted to believe him. I wanted to trust him. But doubt had a way of clawing its way in, no matter how hard I tried to shove it out.